


Fed Up

by coffeethyme4me



Category: White Collar
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-13
Updated: 2010-03-13
Packaged: 2017-10-09 10:42:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/86402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeethyme4me/pseuds/coffeethyme4me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter is pissed.  He takes it out on his Neal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fed Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hoosierbitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoosierbitch/gifts).



> Don't own anything!

Peter was pissed. Correction, Peter was *really* pissed. He stormed into June's and immediately started pacing. Neal looked up from his painting wide-eyed, brush still in the air, ready to drip violet down his naked chest.

"Meeting with Hughes, not so much?" Neal asked.

Peter fumed, "Goddamnit, I am not some rookie green agent who..." He lost his words for a minute and simply flailed with his arms. "You know?" he said to Neal.

Neal put down the brush, feeling a familiar longing jolt his blood. The site of Peter angry...well, let's just say it was better than gang bang porn on a Sunday afternoon.

"What do you need?" Neal asked, and he thought it sounded innocent enough. Two months into fucking Peter, Neal felt he was beginning to grasp…yeah…grasp the finer points of turning the man on.

"I need…!" Peter bellowed, hands on hips, looking around like something else in the apartment besides Neal might fit the bill. Neal thought bemusedly, A Van Gogh? A dry sherry? A drawer full of butt-plugs?

"What?" Neal prodded gently, not yet moving from his spot on the tarmac. His dick moved, of course, valiantly, purposefully up inside the loose, grey sweats.

"I need…!" Peter tried again, obviously completely fed up. Fed up. Neal socked that phrase away for another day when Peter wasn't still armed.

"Yes?"

And Peter looked up square in the eye, then. "I need you to suck it."

Ah, magic, magic words. Neal slid to his knees as Peter stalked over to him, the anger radiating off every tense muscle. Peter grabbed Neal's head and yanked it into his clothed cock and Neal moaned. He opened his mouth around its girth and slobbered all over Peter's slacks. He looked up at Peter from his place on the floor, and Peter undid his pants and pulled out, shoving sloppily into Neal's waiting mouth.

And he didn't give Neal time to suck it. Peter took hold of Neal with both hands and drove down his throat, each violent thrust bruising him, forcing him open. Neal cried out around the battering cock in his mouth and held onto Peter's strong legs for dear life.

"Neal… Shit, Neal…" Peter groaned, fucking his face, shoulder holster swinging against his side, and that was nearly enough. Neal took his cock out over the top of his sweats and wailed on it. He worked it fast, pre-cum drooling out obscenely and coating the hot inside of his fist. Peter was so deep his balls were slapping Neal in the face.

And when Peter came, it was a roar. It was everything he couldn't do or say at the bureau. Neal felt the bitter slick jet across his palate, down his throat, across his tongue, and he came, whimpering like a puppy, like Peter's dirty boy, dirty little secret, a cock down his throat and loving it.

Peter finished first and pulled out slowly. He sank to the floor while Neal gasped and stroked himself, and before Neal could catch his breath, before the last spurt from his aching slit, Peter's mouth covered his and they kissed. And it was everything it always was: deep and intoxicating. A slow ownership. A sweetly sadistic reminder that the anklet wasn't the only thing binding Neal to Peter's side.

Peter released his mouth and Neal released his sated cock, mouth stretched and sore. Peter smiled. "I needed that."

Then Neal smiled, too, even though it felt awkward and shaky on his face. He wondered if his mouth would ever feel the same again. His life ever the same. Ever again.


End file.
